Part II: Trial
Prosecution

Harry arrived on the ninth level of the Ministry of Magic early Monday morning having no idea where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to do. He tugged at the black ribbed collar of his brand new uniform and paced along the expansive hallway, his new black boots clacking noisily on the tile floor, his red cloak fluttering comfortingly around his knees. All he knew was that Snape's trial would be in Courtroom Ten and that the bailiff assigned to the case would be meeting him there.

"Mr Potter?" Harry turned at hearing his name and saw the bailiff, Rhoda Gauntlett, approaching. She unlocked the courtroom and ushered him inside. "You can set all your things on that table. When you're ready, I'll take you to your client," she said politely, her hazel eyes appraising him dispassionately.

"My...client?"

"Snape. I suppose I could just call him the defendant, but seeing as you're representing him and all—"

"He chose me," said Harry firmly. It was important that no one thought he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He wasn't. If he'd found some way of getting out of it he would have resigned by now, but Kingsley had made it quite clear that with his resignation would go any chance he had of becoming an Auror.

"Well," said Gauntlett "it's still my job to take you to him. He's just arrived from Azkaban, so he's not changed into anything suitable for trial."

Suitable for trial? What did that mean? "I don't understand. Didn't he have a chance to eat before they shipped him off?"

"No, I mean the only clothes he has are his prison uniform and slippers."

Harry stopped walking. "You mean he doesn't have robes? Boots?"

"Not unless you brought them."

"This is ridiculous." He turned and stabbed his finger towards Gauntlett's chest. "Find Kingsley. Tell him we're delaying the start until I can find something for Snape to wear. In the meantime, take me to him so I can at least find out what size clothes to get."

"But—"

"I'm not dragging Snape before a bunch of people who want him dead looking like he just escaped from Azkaban. They'll have him convicted before he ever says a word if I do. Now tell Kingsley we're delaying. I'll find Snape myself."

The bailiff sighed and nodded her head. "They're not going to like this, but I reckon that's your problem." She pointed down a narrow corridor. "Through the double doors at the end of the hall. You can't miss him after that." She scurried off and Harry watched her until she disappeared around a corner.

When this was all over, he thought angrily, he was going to write a book about this miserable excuse for a system of justice. How on earth was anyone supposed to get a fair hearing if the rules changed willy-nilly? He flung open the door and found Snape sitting by himself in a small room with large windows, alone. That he hadn't tried to escape came as a bit of surprise, but the Ministry wasn't the easiest place to traipse about unseen.

A moment later he learnt why. Snape was chained to the chair, his hands secured behind his back, his feet secured together from knees to ankles. Another chain lay across his hips and fastened to each rear leg of the metal chair upon which he sat. Harry looked at the faded grey striped uniform and shook his head. "Sirius wore it better," he said, "but it was only a couple of sizes too big for him."

Snape lifted his head and speared him with a sharp look. His lip curled with contempt. "As despicable as your godfather was, Potter, even I know he wasn't likely to cause people to want to claw their eyes out rather than look at him."

Harry eyed Snape critically. The uniform he was wearing would be large on Slughorn and fell off Snape like a basilisk shedding skin. His hair had been cut slightly shorter than Harry's, which had the unfortunate effect of emphasising Shape's nose. At least he appeared fed. With some food in him though, his cheekbones merely looked sharp, not skeletal.

"I've just learnt that you've nothing better to wear into the courtroom than what you have on," said Harry, "so I've told Kingsley to delay the start for a bit. I need to know what size clothes to get."

"No."

"What? Are you mad? You can't mean to walk out there dressed in that."

"And why not?" sneered Snape. "Do you expect any of them will undergo a magical change of heart because I'm suddenly made presentable? Or what passes for it in your eyes?"

"Because appearing like someone who has already been convicted will be so much better? " Harry sighed. "Why does everything have to be a battle with you? You need proper clothes to wear into court and unless you have some, I need to get some. So what are your sizes?"

Snape turned his head and looked away. "I should ask Neville's gran for one of her old dresses," muttered Harry under his breath. "Along with her vulture hat." He pulled himself to his full height. "Be grateful I've no skill at Transfiguring clothes. I'll be back in a few minutes. You'd damned well better be here when I return."

Snape's only response was to lift an eyebrow. "Or you'll what?"

"Or I'll have you declared missing and considered dangerous. The Aurors tend to hex first and ask later." He gave a tight smile and stormed out of the room.

Bastard. Why must the man turn every act of kindness into a fight to the death? Ridiculous.

It took him a few minutes to find Kingsley and less than that for Kingsley to tear a bite out of his hide. "We are not going to delay this trial so you can turn Snape into your personal dress-up doll."

"I am not turning him into a dress-up doll," gritted Harry. "But I can't send him in there looking like he came out on the wrong end of a battle with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Let me use the Floo in your office to firecall Professor McGonagall. All of Snape's things are still at Hogwarts as far as I know. She should be able to find him a decent set of robes and a pair of boots. Fifteen minutes, Kingsley. That's all I ask."

Kingsley folded his arms across his chest and glared down at Harry. "You have ten minutes and tell Daveen I gave you permission."

Harry didn't bother with thanks. He had nine levels to ascend and a firecall to make, and Minerva needed time on her end to find Snape's belongings. Naturally, the lifts were packed, but then Harry noticed that everyone stuffed inside was getting off to see the trial, so he had a relatively easy journey to Level One.

Luck was with Harry. Professor McGonagall was at her desk and waved him through. "I must admit I was as surprised as you were to learn that Severus appointed you to be his representative," she said once quick greetings had been exchanged. "He never made a secret of how little he cared for you. I always thought it would do him a world of good to be locked in a room with you for a month, but I could think of nothing you'd done to warrant such ill treatment."

Locked in a room with Snape? There was a revolting thought. "Occlumency lessons were bad enough. We would have killed each other rather than find a way to work together. He's just...he's just so unfair. He always thinks he knows best, that he's the smartest one around, but he's not. He's clever, I'll give you that, but he can't be reasoned with, not if he gets his back up. I swear I've never met anyone more stubborn than he is. He just expects everyone to just know everything. And he calls me arrogant. If I had half the ego he does, I'd be insufferable." Harry was a bit surprised to discover he was shouting and immediately stopped talking.

McGonagall was staring at him as though he'd just sprouted antlers. "Well, it seems Albus was right. You are more alike than not. But I thought you were in a hurry?"

Harry's eyes widened. How had he forgotten he had a deadline? "Kingsley's going to have my head," he exclaimed.

McGonagall shook her head. "There's a staircase just past the Pensieve. Turn left at the top and you'll be in the headmaster's private rooms. It's just as Severus left it."

"Why didn't you move his things out?" asked Harry as he moved to the spiral staircase.

"I've lived in Gryffindor Tower for well over thirty years, Mr Potter," she said. "I'm happy there. It's my home and I see no reason to leave it. Besides, it gives me a reason to leave this place every evening. It feels like work has ended."

That seemed like a perfectly rational reason to Harry. He sprinted up the stairs and found the room where Snape had once lived. There was a large wardrobe right inside the room, but no matter how hard Harry pulled on the handle, the cupboard wouldn't open. "Is there a password or something?" he shouted down the stairwell.

"I shouldn't think so." McGonagall's voice floated up. It sounded far away and Harry wondered if she was leaving.

"Look, I need something for Snape to wear," he gritted out as he tugged and rattled the door. He tried Alohomora but nothing happened. Giving the handle an enormous yank, he tumbled backwards when the door flew open. Satiny robes the colour of aquamarine fluttered out, followed instantly by a pair of slippers and a tall pointed hat. A tight ball of underthings launched itself at his head and he snatched it right out of the air. He stared at the robes, but the door slammed shut. Knowing he was out of time, he bundled the clothing up, wincing at the thought of what Snape was going to say.

Sprinting back down the stairs, Harry was only mildly surprised to see that McGonagall was gone. He paused for a moment in front of Dumbledore's portrait. "I'm sorry I don't have more time, but Kingsley will have my head if I'm not back in about thirty seconds."

"Mustn't keep the Minister waiting, Harry," said the portrait, his blue eyes twinkling. "We'll have a chance to speak another time."

Spotting the jar of Floo powder, he tossed some on the fire and crossed his fingers that there wasn't a password he needed to know. He stepped into the fire and spun off, heading for the Aurors' Office on Level Two. At least he knew how to access that fireplace, even if it was designated for emergency use only.

The lifts to the ninth level seemed to take forever and Kingsley was pacing furiously when he arrived panting and out of breath. "I know, I know," he wheezed. "Give me a minute so he can get changed." He sprinted off to the holding cell where he found Snape still shackled and bristling with enough anger that Harry felt it the second he dashed into the room.

"You need…to give me…the password…to your wardrobe," he panted as he set the ball of clothing down in front of Snape. His lungs were pulling in air like a bellows and it took another minute before he could complete a sentence without needing to take another breath. "I don't know why, but I think it gave me some of Dumbledore's things instead of yours. Why didn't you clear his things out first?"

Snape just stared at the clothing as Harry unshackled him. He said nothing as he removed his prison garb; then again, he didn't have to. His eyes spoke volumes, and if it had been possible for fire to spit from them, Harry would have been roasted alive. Snape dressed and Harry watched, hoping his perverse fascination with Snape's body wasn't advertised on his face. "The charm to remove wrinkles is—" hissed Snape.

"I know what it is," muttered Harry as he pulled his wand and made Snape as presentable as humanly possible. Ignoring the heat spooling in his belly and the hint of arousal building between his legs, he opened the door and waited for Snape to stalk through it.

Gauntlett was waiting on the other side and swiftly had Snape back in manacles for the walk to Courtroom Ten. Harry followed behind, not knowing if he was supposed to walk in with Snape or with Kingsley. It would have been helpful to have some sort of instructional pamphlet to read over before the actual trial started, and given the Ministry's predilection for reducing everything to bullet points, it was just short of amazing that there wasn't such a thing.